The Taboo
by OrangePlum
Summary: It was a very bad idea for a nation to love a human. That was the one taboo all countries understood very well. And yet, that couldn't quell the apprehensive curiosity England possessed when watching a blonde American in a coffee shop every morning.
1. Prologue

~ O o O ~ o O o ~

_Prologue: To Love a Human_

~ O o O ~ o O o ~

It was utterly absurd for a nation to get involved with a human. There were many obvious reasons why it wouldn't work out in the end, the main thing being the time factor. The human lifespan was a blink of an eye to a nation. One hundred years (on a healthy human) didn't measure up to nearly enough time to spend with a loved one. It would be too painful for a nation to care for a human.

Sure, occasionally a close bond would ignite and a nation would cherish the time they had with the individual, but it was fleeting, England knew. He remembered countless nights of anguish the moment he had heard his Virgin Queen had passed, not to mention watching others like France and Prussia grieve over their own people, some held dearly to their hearts even to this day. Relationships with rulers, however, were unavoidable. In the event of _willingly_ going out of their way to love a human, the odds with nations were slim.

England knew this, and yet…

He knew the fear and worry that consumed a nation when loving a human, for they could get injured or sick or die at any time. He knew the risks and the turmoil and that nightmarish ending that was bound to happen, _and yet_.

And yet and yet and yet.

Despite all of this, he could not help but be compelled to enter a coffee shop nestled in between the hustle and bustle of New York, ordering the same beverage he never touched, and staring over the top of his newspaper discreetly at a figure across the room. If he thought back to it, England couldn't even recall how he'd first ventured into this shop. It had something to do with the routine monthly conferences held in the United States, he was sure.

Yes, the United States.

It was a peculiar country. It thrived and it was independent, yet no one seemed to find the physical embodiment of the country. Even as England recalled colonizing nearly two hundred years ago, the confusion and befuddlement was always there. A country as powerful as America, thriving as long as it did, why, there had to be a country in biological form somewhere.

But no one knew where.

Because of this, the United States was the agreed upon spot for monthly business meetings. There was no host and no biases; nothing. The United States of America was the only blank country in a world of smears and stains.

But that was beside the point.

The point was that England had found this little coffee shop nearly six months ago. By accident, mind you. Except it wasn't the drinks or atmosphere or even the location that kept pulling the Briton back to this shop every morning the assemblies were held.

No, it was something of an entirely different and upsetting nature.

England frowned to himself, tapping his foot anxiously against the tiled floor below his table as he pretended to be enthralled with a news article. It wasn't the newspaper he was interested in, though. The Englishman waited a few moments before chancing another glance over the hem of his paper, green eyes watching in wonder at a blonde boy across the way.

A blonde _human_ boy.

This was the particularly upsetting thing that had started to eat away at the Briton when he was alone. He knew not the boy's name, nor his hobbies or preferences or family life. He knew not a lick about this boy who looked as if he was fresh and budding with the youthfulness of a young adult as he enthusiastically drank his coffee and typed something in on his phone.

England pursed his lips as he watched the blonde set his cup down against the small table by the window where he sat every morning, enamored by the way his cheeks dented in with dimples when he gave a small smile as to whatever he had received on his cell phone.

A child ran past England's table noisily, making the Briton jump and bury his face in his paper. England let out an irritated breath after a long moment, wondering how big of a fool he looked, before he unhunkered his head from his shoulders and looked over his paper once more.

The blonde teenager hadn't even so much as noticed England's presence, still drawn in to his text conversation and sipping his coffee.

Yes, this was indeed a pickle of a situation.

The first time England had noticed the American was the first moment he had taken a seat in the shop. He didn't know what it was that drew his eye to the carefree individual, but England didn't manage to take his eyes off him after that. The second day of the conference, England had decided that he would visit the small, obscure shop hidden between the skyscrapers, that urge to possibly catch another glance of this person again itching at the back of his mind as he had slept in his hotel room. He was rewarded with a surprise as the boy waltzed in at the exact time he had previously, ordering the same drink, and doing what he did the day before: taking a seat by the window and texting on his phone.

So it had become a ritual. Day after day when the conference came around, England would go to the small coffee shop before the meeting and wait for this unknown American, silently observing him from a distance as he repeated the same routine. The boy was in his own little world, never bothering to look up at anyone else as he drank his coffee and texted.

England became mesmerized and found himself wondering on his free time what he could possibly be talking about to make faces like that. Faces that made him smile the brightest smile England had ever seen. Faces that crinkled his nose and made dimples appear. That furrowed his brow slightly, or made him blink in surprise before sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Without even knowing it, England's head started to swim with this unnamed face, his palms sweating and his gut churning uncomfortably. Why did he feel so inadequate around this random, meaningless human? He was just like everyone else in the population. What's more, he was American! Not even an excuse of citizenship bound England to this boy, but he still managed to make him feel the strangest, most irritating sensations.

Countless times he had cursed himself in the mirror, pacing his room with determination to rid his mind of this brat, convincing himself to just go up and say hello. Once he could greet him and see that there was nothing special about this boy, there would be no need to pursue this unhealthy intrigue any further.

But every time his confidence was zapped away under the presence of the blonde.

And it was finally on the day when he had accidentally tripped over the leg of his table that England knew this wasn't a normal feeling. He met blue eyes on with full eye contact as he caught himself, staring in a blank stupor at the boy who had finally looked up at him after all these months.

With his throat clogged and his mind blank when the teenager just smiled at him with a laugh that resonated down to his very core, England understood just what exactly was going on.

The one taboo a nation should never do, and England was smack dab in the middle of it.

He was tangling himself in a very dangerous web, that he was.

* * *

><p><span>History notes:<span>

Virgin Queen: A nickname that was referred to for Queen Elizabeth I. If you don't know about her history and what she did for England, I doubt you would understand the significance of her being brought up for a moment in this story. Other than that, there's nothing else that really needs to be referenced.


	2. Chapter 1: Alfred

~ O o O ~ o O o ~

_One: Alfred_

~ O o O ~ o O o ~

"What, pray tell, have you been sitting on to get all of these ants in your pants, mon petit lutin fait face aigre? I am guessing an ant hill."

England gave a displeased glare over his shoulder at the smiling Frenchman walking alongside him down the busy streets of the city, absentmindedly twirling his hair as he watched the tense Briton. Well, what could he say? Today was the first morning of yet another monthly conference.

"None of your business, frog," he countered, making sure to tuck his briefcase closer to his side so as not to hit anyone else by accident.

France didn't look disturbed by England's snappy remark at all, far too used to them by now. "No, I suppose it isn't. I am just being polite and making small talk."

"Well, don't. I don't see why you even bothered following me anyway. Annoying wanker that you are, I can't fathom you making any sort of talk when nothing useful comes out of your mouth," England remarked bitterly. It was bad enough he had to deal with this man on a regular basis from practically the dawning of his existence, but it was another thing entirely to have to put up with him in the mornings as well.

The mornings on his way to his coffee shop.

France sighed with a small snicker whilst following England across the crosswalk. "It is only coincidence that I awoke around the same time you did. And since we are both here on business, it's only natural that our destination is the same as well." France stopped in his tracks with a jolt when England spun around, scowling and shooting his hand out to stop the Frenchman.

"That is where you're wrong, as per usual." England was harsh with his words, wanting to get his point across quickly. He wasn't going to let France ruin his morning and follow him all the way to his curious sanctuary. "I'm not going the same way you are, so leave me be and part ways now. I'll see you at the meeting hall."

With that, England pivoted his feet and stormed away down a different street, not even casting another glance towards the baffled but amused blonde behind him. He grumbled under his breath, "Annoying twat."

When England was a sufficient ways away from the direction of the conference, he began to relax somewhat. He was running late. There was no way to get around it that he would most likely get there after the person he was unwittingly curious about. But that shouldn't have made a difference, really. It wasn't as if he made any contact with this nameless American brat. A brat he most assuredly was, for no one could be a decent person who captivated another's thoughts so much and drove them to lunacy on the brink of obsession.

England huffed under his breath with a dejected frown. What depressing and foreign thoughts he had to put up with.

With a great deal of stubbornness, the Briton puffed out his chest and began to walk with confidence. Ah, yes, they had never really had any interaction for nearly half a year now; however, today England decided that enough was enough. He was plagued for far too long with this face, and today he would put a stop to it by saying hello…

… Far easier said than done.

England tapped his fingers nervously against the tabletop, scowling down at the book in his hand that he most certainly wasn't reading. Across the room was that very same person, still oblivious and unaware to what he was doing to England. The nerve.

England ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, his lips tweaking downwards at the corners in concentration. He could do anything he bloody well wanted to for God's sake. He was the United fucking Kingdom. And yet this mere person was putting his power and pride to shame.

How was it possible to feel so inadequate in front of someone you didn't even know?

_This is ridiculous. Just go up and say hello. Say hello and get this over with, old boy. Once you say hello, you don't have to worry yourself with this dreadful café anymore and go back to your life once more_, England thought to himself. He slowly glanced up from his book to watch the blonde nursing his coffee, grinning ear to ear at his phone.

England sat up and stared curiously. _What the devil is he talking about?_

He found himself immensely interested in these text conversations the boy had every morning. What could make him grin like that? But, he supposed, it all led back to the boy's interests themselves. Whatever interested him to make him smile, England was inquisitive about.

In his captivation, England hadn't noticed that he was leaning too far over his tiny oval table, the sturdiness of the object not meant for the weight of a human body. In the blink of an eye, his untouched beverage toppled over the side of the table as it tilted, splattering on the tiles in a warm mess, blotches of droplets hitting the bottom of England's pristine suit pants.

He jolted and sat upright, noticing some patrons staring at the mess. England quickly apologized to the customers at the table beside him, before he got up and walked over to the napkin dispensers, mortified. He grabbed a handful and walked back over to the large, brown mess on the floor, dabbing at the liquid.

_Very nice. Classy, in fact_, England thought, rolling his eyes all the while. He took a breath and stilled, peering up little by little behind his bangs to see–

_Bollocks! Fucking bollocks!_

England quickly zipped his eyes back down to the floor he was cleaning, scrubbing much faster than previous. Across from him watched the blonde American, amused smile tugging at his lips as something humorous twinkled behind his eyes. Great, now he had looked like an idiot. Well, there went good first impressions.

_Perhaps that was just an accident. It's only natural that he look at this spectacle like everyone else. Why, I'm sure right now he's not even – Alright, that's a lie. _England kept his eyes firmly on the ground, jaw tight and eyes wide. The boy was still watching him, head tilted and chuckling and everything.

The distinct panic that filtered into England's veins became apparent when hearing footsteps, his eyes glancing up briefly to see two tennis shoes standing in front of him.

Shit.

"You need some help there, buddy?"

England craned his neck up from his spot kneeling on the ground, looking at the smiling face watching him. His voice sounded much smoother than he had imagined. It contained nothing but happiness and energy. It was only when the boy raised an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder awkwardly that England realized he had been wordlessly staring.

"E-excuse me. I'm sorry, I didn't– I mean, no thank you. I can clean this mess up myself," England added quickly, voice caught in his throat. He blinked when this only made the American outwardly laugh, the sound coming out like wind chimes on a windy day.

"It's no problem, really. Here, I'll get more towels!"

England watched in slight surprise as the boy bounded across to the counter, taking a fist full of napkins before skidding to a halt and kneeling right in front of England. He rubbed erratically with a pile of napkins on the coffee, looking up to grin at England easily.

"Would you look at that? Two people beats one when it comes to cleaning!" he laughed. "By the way, you might wanna get a different napkin. That one you got there looks soaked to the bone."

England blinked and looked down at the napkin he was rubbing, the cloth completely brown and soaking wet. That surely wasn't going to help much. He tossed it into his nearly empty cup and grabbed a different napkin.

"I apologize. You really don't need to do this. I was just careless," England muttered, frowning to himself when all of the drink was cleaned up. Now the floor was just really sticky. He stood and moved to throw away the dirtied cup and napkins when the blonde took them from his hands.

"It's no biggie, man. I always love helpin' out helpless people. Makes me feel like a hero!"

England watched as the laughing boy strolled away towards the garbage cans, staring at his back silently. It hit him like a sack of bricks after a moment, his skin bristling with a shocked scowl on his face. _Helpless! _He wasn't helpless! If anything, he was the farthest thing from helpless. He was a fucking nation for crying out loud! England flexed his fingers at his sides, annoyed by the sudden cockiness of the blonde.

_Hero my ass. You just wiped up a spill_, he mentally growled.

England quickly averted his eyes when the teenager turned around to look at him, all previous anger dulling down from a roar to a simmer. Damn the cooling effect of those blue eyes. It was like the instantaneous sizzle of pouring a bucket of water over the flame of a candle.

With an uncomfortable cough, England took his seat once more and ran his fingers through his wild hair. Alright, at least he had talked to this stranger. That was better than nothing, right? So why didn't he feel any less inclined to come in here again tomorrow morning?

"All cool now?"

England looked up at the youth watching him, hands gripping lightly at the back of the chair across the small tabletop. England merely nodded and straightened his tie.

"Quite. Thank you for your help… Mm. Pardon me, I didn't quite catch your name." England felt his heart start to pick up pace a little, his fingers lightly pulling at each other under the tabletop as he didn't know where to put them. The boy raised an eyebrow before sticking out his hand.

"Alfred F. Jones."

Watching the extended tan hand carefully, England casually reached out his own and gripped it firmly. Alfred smiled and gave it a few good hardy shakes, rocking back on his heels. Ah, so he finally had a name to stick to this boy. Alfred… England mulled that over in his mind and felt himself relax unconsciously. So his name was Alfred.

"A pleasure to meet you, Alfred."

Alfred grinned and withdrew his hand. "Yeah, no problem… Mister…?"

England stilled, eyes darting away to the other patrons in the room. Shit. His eyes quickly scoured the room until landing on a lady two tables over, drinking out of a water bottle. He read the label quickly.

"Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland."

The cheerful expression Alfred shot at England made his eyes widen a little. Good save. Quick thinking. Alfred laughed and leaned against the chair.

"Like the coffee!"

England paused and glanced at the sticky floor. Ah, clever boy. He nodded calmly and fingered at the pages of his book. "Yes, I suppose it is like the coffee. And yours is coined from a women's brand, isn't it?" he smirked. Alfred rolled his eyes and bobbed his head in surrender.

"Yeah, I guess." Alfred became distracted as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, eyes skimming over the new text that he just received. England bit at his cheek and swallowed the ball of weight in the back of his throat, deciding to just go for it. This brief encounter wasn't nearly enough to see if he could finally abandon this shop.

"Would you care to sit down? I could buy you a drink to make up for your help," England offered, gesturing to the chair Alfred was leaning against. He waited patiently for Alfred to bring his attention back to him instead of the phone, the small instrument being tucked back into the boy's pocket temporarily.

"No thanks. You don't have to owe me one. I like helping people," Alfred said happily. England felt something smother in his chest in a tug, what could have been disappointment. Unfortunately for him, Alfred seemed to pick up on the twitch on his face, pulling out the back of the chair and taking a seat with a smile. "But I guess I got some time to sit."

England perked up, quickly masking his exhilaration with apathy. Alfred tapped the table with his palms, blowing a breath of air from his lips and looking around. "So… Where you off to this morning?" he brought up for small talk.

"A meeting with some associates," England supplied, shifting in his seat. He could feel Alfred's knees bumping against his own under the table. England raised an eyebrow when seeing Alfred look impressed.

"A meeting?" He whistled. "That explains the suit. Dude, how old are you to be conducting business stuff?"

It was like word vomit, that it was. He had no control over his mouth when coming up with these random answers. "Twenty-three," blurted England. Oh, wait. That wasn't a good age. And by the looks of Alfred's face, he knew it too.

"_Twenty-three_? Pardon my French, but holy shit. You're twenty-three and doin' that stuff? Man, you must've dedicated your life to school and work!" Alfred said, astounded. It made England tweak his lips for a moment before running his finger over the edge of his book. Hearing the delighted surprise in this boy's voice was kind of nice to hear.

"There's a lot to get done and…" England shifted and glanced away briefly before looking at Alfred once more. "And you know how short life is. Why not get a good head start, you know?"

Alfred laughed. "Hell if I know!"

England watched Alfred with a sense of distant curiosity, trying to decipher the meaning of his word choice, before Alfred leaned back in his chair, the front legs hovering off the ground. "I like the other approach."

"Which is?"

"Take it slow and catch the view," Alfred grinned, running a hand through his hair in an amusing way that ruffled his bangs against his forehead. "No offense or anything. Your way's cool too. Owning some sort of… what do you do exactly?"

England fiddled with his tie. He certainly couldn't say he managed an entire country– _was_ the country. "Stock," he divulged.

"Stock?" England reveled in the second impressed expression Alfred sported. "Owning some stock company or something is cool and all, but I would never be able to do that. It's too much work and time and effort and," Alfred cut himself off with an amused shake of his head. "I don't wanna use so much of my time on something I hate doing. No free time."

England smirked in a challenging way. "Then what is it you call this experience?" He gestured to the coffee shop, his morning ritual.

Alfred clacked his chair against the ground with a smile of his own. He slid England's book from out beneath his hand and held it up with a smug looking grin. _War and Peace_. "Early morning extra credit."

England watched as Alfred coyly slid the book back with a playful shrug and an eye roll, the Briton staring at his book before peering back up at Alfred. Well. This was a surprise indeed. This stranger actually seemed a little cocky, yet still remained an innocent persona. He was interesting to say the least.

"What if I just merely enjoy this novel, not taking into account any political or educational values?" England countered, thoroughly engrossed in Alfred's response, the sandy blonde leaning in somewhat against the table on his elbows.

Alfred shrugged again. "Then you still prove my point. To enjoy something like that on your free time says a lot about a person, doesn't it?"

England mulled this over with a purse of his lips, conceding somewhat. But then again, when someone was a country, they seemed to be interested in many subjects politically, historically, and relating to the economic or social gain of other countries and their people.

"And what, by all means, does your free time say about yourself then?" England asked genuinely, watching Alfred fiddle with his cell phone, his green eyes glancing to the coffee on the table next to his that Alfred had seemingly abandoned. Alfred hummed in thought, following England's eyesight and smirking. Amusing.

Blue eyes locked onto England's as Alfred's nose crinkled in a smile. "That I like talking to new, entertaining people."

This made the Englishman blink in surprise, the vestiges of astonishment fizzing off the ends of his nerves as he stared awestruck as Alfred stood from his seat abruptly, giving a salute down at the staring Briton. "It was nice talkin' to ya, Arthur. You're real impressive, you know that. Good luck with your meeting today."

England watched as Alfred easily grabbed his coffee cup and walked out the door, smile on his face even as he put the device to his ear and began talking with someone as he walked down the crowded New York street. He was left to sit there, some unknown words resting on his tongue, as he watched Alfred leave his line of vision.

"Entertaining?" England muttered, skin giving off a tingly feeling as he furrowed his brow somewhat at his book. He hadn't anticipated that. Not one bit.

And even as England stood up with a heavy sigh ten minutes later, gathering his things in his hands and moving to grab a couple more napkins at the counter, he couldn't help but feel confused at the plethora of buzzing about his tummy when gazing down at the countertop by the garbage.

The word 'later' was written out with straws, sloppy and crude making a mess.

England looked at it for a while before he slowly blew a breath of amused air through his nostrils and shook his head, turning to leave for the conference with a small smile of his own on his face.

So greeting the boy wasn't enough to discourage England's interest in him. How disappointing that he couldn't shake the American out of his system that easily. Such a brief conversation, and yet he hadn't felt this excited about something in a long time.

Alfred, huh?

Well, it looked like he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. There was still so much to know.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes: You lovely readers get this a tiny bit early because I have a jam packed schedule tomorrow and realized this afternoon after making plans that I would be unable to have time to post anything tomorrow. So not wanting to sound like a liar from my previous author's note, I am uploading this about 30min early because I need to go to bed.<p>

Just a short little chapter. I made it short and virtually nothing goes on because I wanted to make a point; that no matter the brief and seemingly meaningless encounter, this proves that such a worthless interaction can't get Alfred out of England's head. In fact, it may have worsened it. lol Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope to make the ones in the future more interesting as they come.

References:

The Kirkland brand. You know, like the water and coffee, etc.

Jones Sports Collections. I work at a retail store and we sell athletic gear which is Mrs. Jones Sports Collections. I doubt people are familiar with it unless you play a lot of sports, but wuteva.

Correct my translations if I'm wrong.

A) _mon petit lutin fait face aigre_: my little sour faced goblin


	3. Chapter 2: Familiarity

~ O o O ~ o O o ~

_Two: Familiarity_

~ O o O ~ o O o ~

If England had known how horribly awkward the next morning was going to be after Alfred's and his brief encounter the day before, he may have reconsidered talking with him. The bull-headed Briton leaned against the building with a petulant frown, twirling his cigarette between his fingers. He took another long drag and exhaled slowly through his nose, two spouts of smoke filtering out like the steam from a steam engine.

Inside, if he decided to peek through the window once more, he would be able to clearly see Alfred, the boy going about his morning by drinking his coffee and texting on his cell phone. England decided that after the fifth time that he just wouldn't torture himself anymore and cease looking.

Instead, he decided to smoke outside and wait for his stomach to stop that incessant churning.

Ten minutes later and it hadn't.

It was clear to him, though, that Alfred wasn't someone so easy to shake from his system with a simple conversation. That had been clear yesterday when his mind kept drifting back to the brief interaction as he took notes in the conference. He had even played over the whole scene before he went to bed, trying to decipher any hidden information in Alfred's words and actions. And because of this, it was clear that he would continue to willingly show up to the coffee shop every conference morning.

… Unfortunately, this entailed the weird moment of the second meeting. One which Alfred would surely notice him and think he had some sort of stalker issue.

England grumbled quietly to himself and finished off his cigarette, snuffing it out against the wall. He understood that if he was going to continue trying to talk to Alfred, he had to have the boy become familiar with him. And the only way to do that was to push past this obstacle that was their second meeting.

With a shake of his head, patting at his cheeks in reassurance, England casually picked up his briefcase and took a calming breath. He pushed open the door and walked into the shop as if he'd never met Alfred in his life. England made sure to keep his face stoic as he ordered his regular beverage that he never touched, standing off to the side and glancing at his watch occasionally to appear like he was in a hurry. Not once did he decide to chance a peek in Alfred's direction. If he understood anything about Alfred from their short meeting yesterday, it was that if he recognized England, he would loudly make it known.

Hey, that was all he had to hope for.

England thanked the girl across the counter when she handed him his drink, moving for an open table and pulling out his newspaper (yet another thing he didn't read). It was time to wait, England understood, as he sat quietly with the paper in front of his face, flipping the page every few minutes.

After a sufficient amount of time, the Englishman calmly peered up over the edge of his paper in the direction of Alfred's usual table. To his disappointment, as well as a little bit of relief, Alfred hadn't seemed to have noticed him at all. He still was enamored with his phone, sipping at his drink every now and then.

Still, England couldn't help but admit that Alfred was still just as interesting quiet as he was interacting with him.

It was stupid to get all bent out of shape over merely sitting down and reading a paper. And yet England managed to pull it off under the jumble of nerves that were tied together. For the life of him he wished to understand this feeling of his. He had an inkling as to what it was, but having had never felt this way for a human in a long long _long_ time, England found himself baffled as to what to do.

And then there were two fingers peeling back the top of his paper, making him blink large green eyes in confusion. England met Alfred's gaze as the blonde grinned down at him as he leaned over the table, an impossible amount of energy laying in wait behind that face.

"Well look who it is!"

England continued to stare as Alfred laughed and placed his hands against the table, setting his cell phone down and tilting his head to the side in surprise. "Arthur, right? I just met you yesterday, didn't I? The guy who made the mess?"

England straightened and shifted awkwardly in his seat, placing the newspaper down and averting his gaze for a moment. "Oh. Oh, yes, that was me. Good morning…?"

"Alfred," piped in the American.

England smiled to himself and let a breath out from his lips, seeming pleasant. "Yes. Good morning to you, Alfred."

"I'm surprised to see you here again, man. I was just doin' my thing when I looked up and boop! There you were. Or, at least, I thought it coulda been you. I just saw some messy hair above that paper and just made a gamble," Alfred said animatedly, squinting his eyes in a bright smile.

"O-oh. Well… I enjoyed the atmosphere here so much yesterday that I decided to revisit this morning," England explained, quickly patting and smoothing down his wild hair when Alfred looked away from a brief moment, distracted by something. He stopped when blue eyes focused back onto him, smiling as best he could despite his heart pounding. "What brings you in here?"

"I come here every day," Alfred said, dimples peeking out when he raised an eyebrow at the Briton. He held his coffee cup up and jiggled it. "Coffee's the bomb," he said in a sing-song.

England glanced towards his own untouched cup and held it up as well. "Yes, it is quite good," he agreed. As if to prove his point, he took a large sip with a smile. Alfred did the same and nodded, looking away at a crying baby long enough for England to abruptly turn his head and spit the liquid out into a potted plant with a grimace. Disgusting. Alfred looked back at England only to catch the Englishman smiling pleasantly at him.

"Don't you have school?" England asked despite himself, glancing at his watch with his own raised eyebrow. Alfred shrugged noncommittally.

"I do. But my next class doesn't start until ten. What about you? No meetings today?" he teased.

"Yes, I do have another meeting. But not for another," he paused heavily, furrowing his brow as a thickness coated his tongue when looking at his cell phone against the table. Drat. He looked back up at Alfred with another strained smile. "Not for another ten minutes."

Alfred blinked, pursing his lips. "Uh. Are you gonna, like, make it on time? Or can you just run really fast so you're not worried?"

England chuckled to himself, only _wishing_ that he could run like the wind, if that would only give him a few more minutes with this boy he so desperately, yet illogically, wanted to get to know.

"As inconveniencing as it may be, I do believe I'll be late if I stay much longer," England reluctantly admitted. He sighed and grabbed his phone, standing up with his briefcase and paper, before making his way to throw his coffee away. Alfred grabbed his phone as well, twisting to watch England clean his mess up.

"Oh. Bummer, dude. I was just gonna ask if you wanted to shoot the breeze for a sec so I could blow time before my class, but… you know," Alfred said, scratching the back of his neck with an odd laugh. England stomped around inside of his head and ripped at his hair.

_Bugger bugger bloody fucking bugger!_

"I'm terribly sorry, but I really must run," England said with the best smile he could manage, which really wasn't that easy after hearing Alfred's invitation to talk to him. At least the boy didn't think of him as some creep or weirdo.

"That's cool. No problem."

England chewed at his lip and glanced away nervously. He collected his nerves forcefully and regained his composure, throwing out another hopeful invitation. "Perhaps next time."

Those two and a half seconds for Alfred to answer was torture.

"Sounds awesome!"

England could only squint as he was blinded by the pearly whites in Alfred's mouth. Hooray for courageous invitations.

"Splendid. Well, I hope you have a lovely afternoon, Alfred. I will see you later."

"It was weird running into you."

England paused in his steps to look at Alfred carefully. "In a good way I hope?"

Alfred pretended to think before shrugging with a cheeky smile. "I guess."

"Splendid then."

With that, England exited the shop and headed quickly for the conference building. Another brief encounter and yet it meant so much more. He nearly tripped over his own two feet three times before sitting down in the seat with his country's given name plaque.

It never felt so wonderful to be in America.

* * *

><p>As per usual, after a good few hours of leaving the coffee shop, England resumed his usual professional appearance, taking notes in the meeting, and giving his opinions when they called for it. His mind slipped back into its regular pattern of economics and political structure, forgetting of his encounter with Alfred for this small period of time in the day.<p>

He would have been able to act completely normal, too, had it not been for the high pitched sound emanating from his pocket halfway through Estonia's presentation.

He jumped uncomfortably, something against his leg vibrating like no tomorrow, before he darted his head up to the dozens of eyes staring at him. England frantically fished around his pocket with a curse under his breath as he pulled his black cell phone from his pocket, some horrid ringer going off. He didn't remember setting his phone to volume.

"Excuse me," he muttered before leaving the room, albeit, with some confusion.

In the quiet entrance of the hall way, England flipped open the phone and furrowed his brow in curiosity, seeing that he had gotten a text message from a 'Cindy.'

"Who the bloody hell is Cindy?" he asked himself, folding his arm over his torso and frowning. He clicked the message anyway.

_Did you tell him yet?_

All right, that just made this situation all the more confusing. England looked around, as if expecting someone to jump out with cameras like on those stupid American prank shows, yet no such thing happened. He looked back at the phone and reread the message a few times before it finally clicked, almost dropping the phone in surprise as his heart nearly jumped from his chest.

"Fuck!" It was Alfred's phone. Shit, he grabbed the wrong phone by mistake when he left in his abrupt haste. England panicked, biting his nail with a frown when looking at the phone. Now that he was paying closer attention to detail, he noticed that this really wasn't his phone. It was the same color and very similar to his phone, but the keypad looked different than his own now that he looked closer.

England swallowed a few times and took a few reassuring breaths before gingerly typing in a response.

_What exactly was I supposed to tell him?_

He stared at his question a long moment, wondering if that was vague enough. No, no. He shook his head and looked away, scowling. It was going against Alfred's privacy to use his phone. Yes, England was undeniably curious as to what sort of conversations went on it this thing that captivated the blonde so, and he was tempted by this Cindy girl who asked a very deliciously implicative question, and _yes_, the name Cindy put England's hair on end, wondering who and what she was to Alfred in his life, but still. _Privacy_.

"I should delete this right now," England said lowly, frowning all the while.

He pressed his thumb down and–

_Ping. Message sent._

England hastily dug his fingers roughly into his hair. That was so wrong! He shouldn't have done that. What was he thinking? Of course Alfred would know he had his phone. What with how much the American used his, he probably noticed the second England left the coffee shop. If Alfred knew he had used his phone, all progress would be lost, wouldn't it?

A string of high pitched ringing bombarded England's ears once more, causing him to look up suddenly and turn back to the phone. A response this quick?

He flipped the phone open and blinked down at a number that he most definitely recognized. It was his own.

_Dude. You fuckin' robbed me. :(_

Oh bullocks.


	4. Chapter 3: Growing Urge

~ O o O ~ o O o ~

_Three: Growing Urge_

~ O o O ~ o O o ~

England had become impatient for the rest of the meeting, mind distracted by the little black rectangle in his pocket. He kept his formal persona up, but inside he couldn't find the will to concentrate on the global matters being discussed. Ever since he had found out that it was Alfred's phone he had taken, not his own, he couldn't drag his mind away from it. The initial embarrassment and mortification that had enveloped him a few hours ago still nipped at him every now and then.

How could he be so careless and take someone else's personal belongings?

England furrowed his brow with an apprehensive frown as he tapped his pen against his notes. And Alfred of all people – he certainly felt much worse about it than if it were a random stranger he had 'robbed' as the boy so eloquently put it. England had panicked and texted back with multiple apologies, explaining that he had been in a rush and made a mistake. Luckily Alfred was a nice lad and chose to forgive him, though not as easily as he would've liked. After all, this phone seemed rather important to him.

But then something miraculous became strewn from this pig slop of a situation: Alfred wanted to meet up later.

England felt his heart stutter in his chest as his lips became a thin, tight line, leg jiggling beneath the table while Spain spoke at the pulpit.

Yes, it was just to exchange phones, but it was a meeting. A meeting _Alfred_ had initiated! This was wondrous! Phenomenal even. And it was because of this that England couldn't keep his mind straight for the remainder of the assembly. All he could think about was the treat that was the second encounter in a day he would have with Alfred.

Perhaps he could make it last longer by extending another invitation for tomorrow.

England ran his tongue slowly over his dry lips, purposely ignoring the spark of delight ignite behind France's eyes down the table at the action. Even now he had Alfred's cell number.

So many possibilities from just his one mistake. What a marvelous mistake.

He took a calming breath, feeling somewhat foolish at the excitement bubbling inside him like a child. It was exciting, of course; however, there was also another thing that was bothering the Englishman enough to put a damper on this exhilaration.

And her name was Cindy.

Who was she? What was she to Alfred? Were they related? Was she his girlfriend or just a platonic classmate? What was she talking about? Who was the 'him' she was referring to? Was she the person Alfred constantly texted in the morning who made him smile and laugh and captivated him was she nice how old was she did they know each other a long timehowdidtheymeet–

He inhaled deeply, his shoulders shaking at the large amount of air forced from his lungs, trying to quell his jittery insides. Too many unanswered questions that would certainly be unwanted by Alfred. They were strangers after all.

How dreadful. This situation and curiosity wouldn't be resolved.

So all England could do was tap his foot against the tiled floor and pretend like he was being professional while his brain was imploding inside his skull with a plethora of emotions.

What a lovely and frightful feeling this blossoming 'love' sensation was.

* * *

><p>"You robbed me."<p>

"I cannot even remotely convey how remorseful I am for this mix-up. It was entirely my fault."

"Dude… you robbed me. Like. Dude."

"Again, if there is anything I can do to resolve this situation, I would be happy to comply. I would never intentionally steal from someone like you."

Alfred raised an eyebrow curiously on his side of the bench. England started.

"I- A stranger. I would never intentionally rob a stranger," England explained, feeling tongue-tied for the first time in his long existence. It really wasn't a fun thing to experience. Was this how it felt for all those pre-teens on the tele who wanted to ask each other to the prom and such? He would no longer laugh at them with good conscience anymore.

Alfred glanced down at his phone before back at England. "So you'd rob someone you're familiar with?"

Aaannnuuughhh! This was pure bollocks! No matter how he worded it, he seemed like a crook to Alfred. At seeing England look lost and nervous as to what to say, Alfred couldn't help but let out a choked laugh. He grinned and patted England on the knee a couple of times.

"I was joking. I get it, man. No hard feelings."

Oh.

Ah.

So he was just pulling his leg.

A jest.

Haha, so funny. Side-splitting. How very… nerve-wracking.

"I truly am sorry," decided England one last time, wanting to make sure Alfred understood that he didn't have some underhanded intentions. Alfred popped the gum in his mouth and began shifting through his phone apps.

"Yeah, thanks. I'm just glad you didn't mess with it or something," Alfred said, eyes glued to his phone. "You didn't look inside, did you?"

England felt something spike like a cold tendril inside him, almost as if he had been impaled. _Right_…

He stiffly shook his head, trying to seem calm. He had anticipated that sort of reaction from Alfred, so he took the precaution of erasing his response to Cindy as well as her opened text question. Blasted girl hadn't responded back anyway, much to England's chagrin. Alfred seemed to believe him, too, and smiled at him.

"Cool! You never know what sort of sick weirdo will go through your private shit, you know?"

England laughed lowly and pulled at his collar, looking away with a tight smile. "Yes. Only desperate fools would do that." _Smooth, old chap. Smooth._

"I know. Creeps."

"Indeed."

"So my phone is a lot like yours, huh. I even didn't notice until halfway to my class. Really depressing."

"I apologize…"

"Nah, it's cool, I said. So how many messages did I get?"

"Twelve."

Alfred looked up at this, mischievous smile splayed on his lips as his eyes glittered with murky playfulness. England stiffened immediately, realizing his slipup. That tongue-tied feeling resurfaced, tying the muscle in his mouth into an intricate knot like the ones he used to practice during his pirating and plundering days.

How could he extricate himself from this situation now?

Alfred snickered despite himself at the horrorstruck shock emanating off of England's drastically paled face, much like a deer in the headlights. Oh, but he couldn't help himself. Not with this sudden bout of control over this humorous circumstance.

"You counted?"

England opened his mouth, smothering his hands in his lap. He mentally groaned and could only smile remorsefully at being caught so easily, a crinkle appearing between his large eyebrows. "You may call me Mr. Fool."

Alfred laughed, a truly melodious sound, before he stuffed his phone is his pocket. "I'm just messing with you. I didn't mean to make you wet yourself there." He pointed at England who glanced down at his trousers, eyes darting around. He _didn't_! Alfred laughed again. "It's no big deal, bro. None of them are opened, so it's all good."

England paused and stared in surprise a while, not realizing he had been holding his breath till now. "… You have a very unpleasant sense of humor, you realize."

Alfred shrugged. "It gives me something to do when I'm bored. But you're a good sport about it, aren't you?"

"I suppose," England offered dryly.

Alfred placed his hands on his knee that was folded up on the bench in the park they were at, smiling and cocking his head to the side as he watched England try and regain control of his buzzed nerves. "That's what I like about you, Arthur."

England's head darted up, eyes locking with Alfred's. He couldn't hide from that innocent sincerity in Alfred's voice and painted on his face. He could only swallow the ball in the back of his throat and fight off the lovely warmth in his tummy. He smiled at Alfred as well.

"The sentiment is returned, then."

Alfred looked delighted at this before he stood up. He shifted his sneakers and took a nice breath of the spring afternoon. "Okay. I'll go."

England blinked up at the standing blonde with a sense of perplexity. He furrowed his brow. "Go where?"

Alfred looked nonchalant and placed his hands out with closed eyes and he turned his face away. "Now, now. No need to beg. I already said I'd do it."

England took a small moment to survey his surroundings, seeing if there was someone else close by the Alfred was talking to.

No one.

"Pardon?"

Alfred pretended to huff in annoyance. "Lower your voice. No need to get hysteric. I said I agreed to go get a bite to eat tomorrow with you that you said would make up for robbing an innocent bystander. You don't have to push it by buying me coffee tomorrow morning too. That's just too much."

Ah. So that was the game he was playing. England had to blow an amused breath from his nose before shaking his head at the grinning face watching him. He'd play along, too, he supposed.

"Alright. I won't get on my hands and knees anymore then if you accepted my apology. But don't think I wouldn't do it."

"Oh, I had no doubt. So I guess I'll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Fool."

England pretended to tip his imaginary hat. "Charming."

Alfred saluted with a snicker and swiveled on his feet, hands once again tapping at his phone as he walked down the path and out of the park.

It wasn't until England had opened the door to his hotel room that he felt a familiar buzzing in his pocket. He took out his phone curiously as he tossed his coat and briefcase onto his bed, only feeling the wave of amusement crash into him like the tide of the ocean crash into the walls of a sandcastle when he saw a text from a new number already programmed into his phone under the contact: _USAlfred_.

_Great day for a coffee, eh?_

England sighed and couldn't help but plop down on his bed, unable to contain himself any longer.

"You have no idea, love."


	5. Chapter 4: More

~ O o O ~ o O o ~

_Four: More  
><em>

~ O o O ~ o O o ~

His fingers trembled like the newness to a baby hummingbird's wings, gently quivering with a cauldron of feelings and thoughts. Though he was elated and nervous for never having done this, of course, England kept his casual pleasantness and masked his body with the composure he knew suited him so well. England eased himself into the seat across from an equally happy individual - well, perhaps Alfred was a bit _more_ on the cheerful side than he, but nevertheless.

"Awfully empty place," England commented in a lame attempt at relieving the awkwardness from this new situation.

Alfred didn't seem to mind this comment, merely shrugging and concentrating on unfolding his napkin and tucking it into the collar of his shirt. He grinned and glanced around the maroon room, walls decorated with floral paintings and photographs from the mid twentieth century. Round tables, about as small as a school desk, were scattered about the ebony carpet, tabletops gracing the surface with nothing but a soft flutter about their ruffled edges.

A small, casual restaurant, but still resting a little too dangerously to the border of family and friend-oriented to something different altogether.

England pursed his lips tightly but refused to comment on it.

"It's usually busier, swear," Alfred reassured in good humor. England nodded and folded his own cloth napkin against his lap and began to run his eyes over the menu.

_Yes, I'm sure it is... _The images of dinner patrons all dressed in semi-formal clothing coming in here when candles could be put to their best use flooded his mind and dried out his mouth. If he concentrated hard enough he could even manage to smell the faintest hint of perfumes and potpourri.

"Do you come here often?" England asked, peering over the top of his menu at Alfred who, as disturbing as it was, was sitting with his hands folded against the tabletop with his head tilted and eyes shining with pure, unabashed interest. He faltered and lost eye-contact in his surprise.

Alfred laughed, the sound disturbing the waiters.

"Only when people are treating me. The food's to die for, and the prices are reasonable. Don't you agree, Arthur?"

England nodded distractedly, not even bothering to look at the prices when Alfred said his name like it was part of some source of his happiness (he knew it not to be true, though). _Who really cares about the prices? It's not like a 'politician' like I would have any trouble with finances._

A waiter approached the table gathering Alfred and England's attention as the young man, no younger than Alfred, England supposed, smiled timidly at them. He glanced between the two of them with an air of hesitance before propping his notepad up and holding his pen taut. "My name's Justin. I'll be taking care of you today. Can I start you two off with anything to drink?"

England watched the waiter carefully as Alfred ordered some sort of soda. The boy nodded and smiled as he jotted down the order, stopping only to look a little taken aback when glancing to England who was unaware of his stony stare. "A-and for you, sir?"

England snapped out of his stupor and darted his eyes back down at the menu. "Oh, yes. Let's see– Just an iced tea and what have you."

The boy scribbled it down and left not a nick too soon.

Alfred slowly turned his head back to England in one smooth motion, his face nearly tearing from his teasing smile. England raised an impressive eyebrow. "Did you see that?" Alfred asked.

England chose to play the fool and feigned confusion. "See what?"

Alfred suppressed a chuckle and put his menu back up, shaking his head and saying in a sing-song voice, "Noothing."

England did believe that it most certainly was _not_ nothing. But after seeing that Alfred wasn't going to look at him again, he decided to ignore that curious statement and go about finding what he would eat for this meal. At least the food seemed to be on a friendly and less high class basis.

After the drinks were set down and Alfred began to place his order, England kept getting a tap under the table. At first he thought it was a fluke; like Alfred had rustled around and accidentally stepped on his shoe. But after a few more incessant taps England knew the blonde was trying to convey some sloppy morse code or something.

And judging by that stupid grin on Alfred's face, it probably had something to do with Alfred's previous question. Just to be sure, England ran his eyes over their waiter.

Well.

Hm.

Oh.

It was _obvious_ now. England could see it.

The thing wrong with this situation was that…

… Alfred was an _utter moron_.

There was nothing wrong with the waiter, or with this situation for that matter. So all England could do was try to spew out some name on the menu as the waiter looked just as hesitant as he had the first time when coming to take their drink orders. The tapping occurred at an even more alarming rate.

"What the devil are you doing?" England hissed quietly as he leaned over his edge of the table. Alfred couldn't help any giggles that escaped that time and chose to hide them behind his fist.

"Oh, was that your foot there? Sorry, Arthur."

England regarded him in an unimpressed manner. "Yes, that was my foot. _Why_ are you trying to squish it like a bug on the carpet?"

Alfred shrugged. "No reason." When England frowned with furrowed eyebrows Alfred grinned again and looked around, making sure no one was in earshot. He motioned for England to scoot in, which the Englishman did reluctantly. He paused at how close their faces were, his mind going blank before the gears hit full throttle. Alfred waited a ridiculous amount of time to build up the drama before he snickered and blew out a breath that carried a whisper against the Briton's ear.

"He likes you."

England shot back, flabbergasted. "_Excuse me_?"

Alfred laughed loudly this time. "You're excused."

Leaning in with his face feeling a little warmer than it needed to, England protested quietly, but firmly. "I think you've had one too many energy drinks, or whatever it is that you Americans have been putting in your system. That is a completely crass and ludicrous accusation to make."

"What? You got a thing against man crushes?" Alfred asked.

The words choked and cluttered at the back of his mouth. England felt his fingers curl slightly against the tablecloth as he looked anywhere but at Alfred's amused face. "Wh- N-no, that's not what I'm saying. You haven't been – Are you even listening to yourself, boy?"

"He totally digs you, bro. Be flattered. It's not like that's weird… Ok, it could be weird, actually. But in this case it ain't. You two make a _darling_ couple, don't you think?" Alfred joked and twirled his silverware against the table. All the while England sat looking like a trapped animal. This was not funny in the slightest. Those words did not sound well coming out of Alfred's mouth, either.

The last thing he wanted was for Alfred to play matchmaker for him. Unless. Well…

He coughed awkwardly and pulled at his collar despondently. Alfred was quiet a minute when his bait wasn't taken, pursing his lips and watching England for a moment. He tapped his foot again after a moment for good measure, gaining the Briton's attention.

"But I think I made him angry."

Another large eyebrow was raised, not knowing what Alfred was speaking.

"Because he thinks I'm on a date."

Thick silence.

"Right now."

… ?

"With _you_."

England sat up in his chair, eyes widening a fraction of an inch. He glanced about the small eatery with surprise. What what what? He didn't know whether to take this as the truth or another little joke, for Alfred looked about ready to bust a gut.

"You're not serious, are you?" he breathed, unable to put a label on what was churning inside him at this very moment.

Alfred shrugged again. "Hey, I'm not sayin' I have the best gaydar in the world, but that's the vibe I'm gettin' from this dude. You feel it too?"

England took a moment to twist a bit in his chair and look at their waiter from across the room chatting with the hostess. He peered up briefly before giving a look of curiosity. England turned back around in his chair, perplexed. "I have absolutely no idea." How did Alfred get a gaydar anyway, and where was he hiding it? That was _not_ a convenient thing to put on the market.

Alfred shushed him and waved his hands, composing himself. "Quiet, quiet. Don't offend him."

England blinked and tilted his head to see their waiter come back into view, possibly because of all the staring at him in the past ten minutes. "Do you guys need anything else? Any problems?" he asked politely.

Alfred shook his head and watched England expectantly. "I'm good. Are you good, Arthur?"

There was something in the way Alfred spoke to him that just made England feel uncomfortable and on edge. He sunk down in his chair for good measure. "_Marvelous_."

The young boy looked between the two uncertainly for another moment before giving another suppressed smile and walked away. England sighed and ran his fingers over his forehead, shaking his head while Alfred sipped from his soda. "Do you find this amusing?"

"A little," he admitted honestly.

England mentally groaned, wanting to stab himself with his fork for being drawn in by someone so utterly childish. And yet Alfred still was appealing, even at the end of the day if he embarrassed him to no end. England paused at that.

Hm.

That wasn't a good thing, he concluded.

But by that time Alfred was already turning those bright eyes towards him, another string of words falling from his lips that sent his heart a flutter.

"But I thought I already told you that's why I like you."

That fork was looking more and more appealing as the minutes piled on.

* * *

><p>England knew before the outing was over that he wanted to see Alfred again. There wasn't enough time to quench his curiosity and interest in this strange human being.<p>

Alfred loved sweets, but hated vanilla. He played sports, but never played on a team before. He was allergic to peanuts and had no mother and loved art but hated art museums and so much more. It was a pile of ironic and hypocritical rubbish that made very little sense…

But England wanted to hear more. Alfred certainly was an odd fellow.

"I'm stuuuuffed!" Alfred moaned, stretching his arms over his head as he moved for the exit. England smiled to himself as Alfred turned to look at him. "Thanks for the meal, man. It was fun. Almost makes me feel bad for having seconds..." He stopped to grin and raise both eyebrows. "_Almost_."

"It was my treat so I don't mind," England said truthfully as he watched Alfred push open the door, following shortly after him.

"Next time I'll pay then, too make up for that," Alfred commented, flipping on his phone to appear distracted as England missed his step. Or perhaps England just perceived Alfred's sudden silence as wishful thinking that maybe a comment like that wasn't thrown around so easily by Alfred. It surely wasn't by England.

"I'll remember that."

And even as the two men walked down the sidewalk chatting casually, they both failed to notice a pair of concerned eyes watching from across the busy streets.

* * *

><p>The smells of the meal could still be found wafting out of the kitchen when the restaurant doors swung open. A blonde walked in with a cheerful greeting to the hostess and quickly slipped out of her coat, ready to start her shift. She walked into the restaurant and meandered over to the young waiter boy collecting his tip and cleaning up a table in the back of the room.<p>

She stuck her hand up as she called out, "Hey! Slow day?"

The boy looked up and smiled when seeing the familiar face. He stuffed the spare receipt into the pouch on the side of his vest. "Hello, Cindy. You're late. I've been covering your shift for the last half hour."

Cindy tugged awkwardly at a stray curl that she missed when putting her hair up. "Sorry… I was stuck at home doing something with my dad. Time got away from me a little. You can go now."

The boy nodded and walked around her, ready to take his leave as well, before he stopped and snapped his fingers. "Oh, hey," he said, craning his neck to look at her. She stopped her cleaning up the table and blinked. "I forgot. I just waited on that guy, what's his name… Alfred. Yeah, that's him. He was just here. That's his table."

Cindy looked mildly surprised. "Alfred was here?"

"Yeah, you just missed him. He was here with some guy. I think they were makin' fun of me or something…"

Cindy snorted, but seemed a little distracted. "That's because he tells people you're gay."

The boy looked appalled. "What!"

She laughed and waved him off. "Go home already." She didn't give her coworker another thought as she turned her attention back to the table, fingers tapping against the cloth.

Cindy picked up the receipt and looked down at the signature.

_Arthur Kirkland_

She frowned uneasily. "Alfred… This better not be what I think this is…"


End file.
